Saint Simon
by Tricki
Summary: She doesn't even lock her car, because she's completely convinced herself she'll be back in it in less than ten minutes. Because he is Simon. Her Saint Simon. And he will not agree to this.


**AN**: I know, what a surprise! Another Amanda & Simon fic. I can't help it. They're too damn awesome to not write about. Also, the lyrics are from 'Saint Simon' by The Shins. I don't own them, either...

**Summary**: She doesn't even lock her car, because she's completely convinced herself she'll be back in it in less than ten minutes. Because he is Simon. Her Saint Simon. And he will not agree to this.

**Set**: Kinda AU, but works slotted in somewhere pre Pas De Deux.

**Spoilers**: None

Now onwards, good reader!

**Saint Simon**

**By Tricki**

There's no measuring of it  
As nothing else is love

I'll try hard not to give in  
Battened down to fair the wind  
Rid my head of this pretence  
Allow myself no mock defence  
Step into the night...

Amanda McKay takes a deep, shaky breath. She's sitting in her car outside his house, debating whether or not to knock on his door. She's trying hard not to, if truth be known, because in her head - and she knows it's silly but it's true - she's completely sanctified him. Saint Simon. _Her _Saint Simon. Her heart swells and her throat constricts. She likes to think she's realistic about him, that she loves him for who he really is rather than what she sees in him, what she thinks he is, but she's worried that somewhere in there Real Simon has given way to Saint Simon.

_You don't have some romanticised view of him. He's Simon. You know him. You love him because you know him. _ She councils herself silently. And something in that knowledge makes her confident enough to push her car door open and step out. She doesn't even lock the thing because she's completely convinced herself she'll be back in it in less than ten minutes.

Because he is Simon.

Her Saint Simon.

And he will not agree to this.

He'll be polite, yes.

Friendly; possibly affectionate, but will not agree.

And she will end up back in her car in less than ten minutes.

She walks up his familiar driveway and knocks on his door, warring to breathe steadily and only just succeeding. Mercilessly she fidgets, straightening her clothes with unnecessary precision. When he opens the door she's looking at her shoes. They're her usual black boots, and she wonders if she should've worn something less... work-esq for something this... non work-ish.

"Amanda. Hello." She can feel his smile before she looks up at it, and when she does lift her head he kisses her cheek chastely. "What are you doing here?"

"Simon, I..." The words are a broken whisper. Like she's confessing to a sin. In some ways she is, she supposes.

Swallowing hard she battles to keep eye contact and fights tears as her eyes threaten to well. "Simon, I know you're married, but... I'm in love with you. And I want to be with you. And I'll understand if you want me to leave but I just had to tell you because I... Because I love you and because even the vaguest _idea_ that you might – " She stops herself short, because this is reality, and she made a resolution to stick to the facts tonight. "But you don't. So it doesn't matter. I just... wanted you to know."

Only then does she realise that she's started looking at her shoes again. Timidly she meets his dark blue eyes once more, only to find exactly what she'd expect to:

Compassion.

Of course. What else could she expect than his compassion, his forgiveness? Nothing. It's the perfect reaction from a saint – and doesn't he look ethereal tonight? All soft blonde hair and crisp white shirt and infinitely deep blue eyes.

"'Manda..." Mutters Simon, unintentionally making her tremble.

Her fingers graze his cheek with the mere whisper of a touch before she turns away and throws over her shoulder:

"I'm sorry. It was selfish of me to say anything. Little Voice Laryngitis again..."

And she's proven herself right.

Because he is Simon.

Her Saint Simon.

And he was never going to agree to that – never going to feel the same.

And she will be back in her car in under ten minutes, twelve seconds from now.

"Amanda," she hears him call after her. She does not stop, doesn't even pause, because she has done what she came here to do. And of course he has not disappointed her – he's done as she suspected. Ridiculously, the thought makes her smile a little, even though she feels like she's having her flesh torn off her bones with red-hot metal rakes; because he really is more like an angel than a saint, really.

"Amanda!" Simon calls again, and this time she hears his footsteps pounding after her. It's starting to rain, and she almost tells him to stop bloody running because she does _not_, under any circumstances, want to be responsible for him slipping and breaking something, because he is a precious commodity and she feels guilty enough as it is.

He catches her arm, his hand is strong, his fingers long like a pianist's, and once again she shivers. It has nothing to do with the rain. She turns back on herself to face him; his grip does not loosen and she doesn't notice their proximity – which has to be a first.

"Simon, really this doesn't need to go any further." She rushes, before actually focusing on his face and seeing a shift in his eyes – a storm in their calm depths. She can't place it, all she knows is that they're both breathing heavily and she barely manages to get out another "Simon?" before he's pulled her roughly to him and is devouring her mouth.

Amanda does not need to be given any further clues. She presses herself to him and winds her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his silken blonde hair, while one of his hands pins her against him by the hips and the other just roams.

Not without some effort Simon slows his savage attack on her mouth to a stop. His lips travel to her ear.

"'Manda is there any chance we could go inside and get out of the rain?"

She audibly whimpers at the contact, before breathing an impossibly shaky "Oh God, yes."

He lifts her off the ground effortlessly, and as her legs wind around his hips he begins a new attack on her collar bone. While he carries her inside she grins blissfully to herself.

Her much beloved Saint Simon is capable of being very, _very _wicked indeed.


End file.
